High School Statuses
by OctoberSkies21
Summary: Storybrooke AU. Belle French is the senior captain of the cheer squad who is attracted to the "Gold boy". Calan Gold is the unpopular boy with an impossible crush. Valentine's Day brings them together in an awkward situation filled with a whole lot of blushes. Valentine's day fluff. **This will be a series of one shots, in no particular order.**
1. Finally

It was that time of the year again. The time when couples expressed their love with chocolate, cheap flowers, and corny dinner dates. For Calan Gold it was the complete opposite. He had no one to show any sort of feelings to. And as a senior at Storybrooke High School, he certainly wasn't going to find the girl of his dreams any time soon. Then Belle French had stepped on his foot during passing period and turned everything upside down.

She was, for the most part, the strangest and most peculiar girl he had ever met, while still being the Captain of the cheer squad. Which was exactly why he would never be able to even try to pursue her. Yet she had still walked down the long hallways, apologizing the whole time, and even after that had gone to his locker after school to make sure he was all right. Everyone knew that Calan Gold had an issue with his knee after he tore his ACL in 8th grade. It was one subject matter that would always be brought up whenever the jerks and jocks would pick on him. Which was often, because he had very few friends. Acquaintances, yes, but no close friends who would stick up for him.

He remembered one time around November when Alexander Gaston had 'accidentally' shoved him against a locker. Gaston had been talking about how he was going to score the winning touchdown for the home game that night when Belle had come. Calan remembered the moment perfectly. Class had already started, and she had been finishing an essay test in their Honors Senior English class, which was why she was running late. At the sight of Gaston and his two friends shoving Calan against a locker, she dropped her books and practically ran towards them. She threatened to call of their date after the game if they hurt him any further. Without hesitation Gaston let go of Calan, not without a few colorful curse words to Calan. Once they had left, Belle had helped him walk to class, which was on the other side of the school. She had had to put one arm underneath him just to help him walk. He was amazed at how strong she was. She might have looked dainty in her green and grey Storybrooke cheerleading uniform, but she was made of steel and had the strength of a man. Any man but him, of course. Since then, he had come to the few home games that were left. Not to watch Belle, though. To watch the game. Or to _try_ to watch the game. But she was just so distracting.

He had seen more of Belle since then, too. They never really talked outside of classes, but occasionally he would catch a fleeting glance of her in the hallways or she would ask him questions about homework they had. Then she had dumped Gaston, and his world became just a little bit better. She talked to him more, even asked him to come to a few basketball games. He came with Viktor and Jefferson, but never had the nerve to talk to her after the game. Jefferson was good friends with Belle, but once he learned of Calan's 'crush' he would talk nonstop about her. It was good to be able to know more about her, but because Jefferson was teasing him, he became quickly annoyed around him.

He hated remembering the scarce moments they had together; they reminded him of why he would never been seen as anything more than a mere acquaintance. She was mature, smart, much to good for him, and _out of his league. _He was smart, but too sarcastic and horrid to people. Yet he still found himself talking to the student council president of February 14th, trying to find out if there were any left over carnations.

Storybrooke High School did the same stupid thing each year for valentine's day. For one dollar a carnation could be bought and sent to your valentine. He had never cared about such things until this year. He had wanted to buy her one days ago, but didn't realize that they stopped selling them a few days before the delivery. He had mentally punched himself for not knowing.

"Charlie, I need to get one of those flowers," Calan said, trying not to sound too desperate.

The student council president only smirked in response. "Why do you _need _one, Gold? It's not like you could possibly have a valentine this year."

He tried his best to not yell or do anything that was too rash. "Just shut the fuck up and give me one. I know you have more."

"Gold. You're one of the richest kids at this school. Just go out and buy a whole bouquet of roses. It's not like you can't afford it. Now leave before I shove this book up your ass."

Calan walked away, muttering something about shoving his own foot up Charlie's ass, but a thought came to him that mortified him. The only flower shop in town was Game of Thorns. The shop that Belle's father owned. But maybe she wasn't working today. Maybe Moe French had given his daughter the day off. It was worth a shot.

"Excuse me? Do you have any roses left?"

Calan felt awkward. That was the only way to describe it. He was standing in the shop, with Moe French standing behind the counter, a look of amusement on his face.

"It's Valentine's Day. Even if I had any left they'd all be gone by now." Moe looked at him. He seemed familiar, like there was a vague memory of him hiding in the back of his head.

He knew it. Of course there wouldn't be any left. The only flower shop in town, and he thought that there might be roses left over on today of all days. Feeling defeated and a little depressed, he turned to walk out of the shop.

"She must be special, am I wrong?"

Calan spun on his foot, surprised by the question.

Moe noticed the look of surprise on his face and continued. "Your girl. You could've just left and gotten her a box of chocolates or something. But a rose is special, and you know it. So, for your special girl you need a special flower."

"Yes. She is…" he trailed off, feeling awkward about talking about indirectly talking about Belle to her father.

"Well, then let me see what I can do. I know I might have a few left in the back." Moe turned and left the room, finding what Calan considered his saving grace in the form of a beautiful flower.

Five minutes later Moe entered again, holding a beautiful rose wrapped in white, lace-like paper.

"Here you go. I took the liberty of dressing it up a bit," he said as he handed it to the young boy who was trying to conceal his delight.

"Thank you, sir. How much?"

He started to reach for his wallet when Moe interrupted him, "No, no. Think of it as a Valentine's gift."

After a few more minutes of Calan trying to offer his money, he finally relented and thanked Moe once more. As he was almost out the door, Moe called to him,

"Wait, are you Calan Gold? Belle talks about you quite a bit."

Blushing slightly and astonished he replied, "She does?"

Moe couldn't help but smile. "Oh yes. She does. And I hope your…_special girl_ enjoys that flower." As Calan walked out the door he turned to look at Moe French, who had a twinkle in his eyes and a smirk on his face.

It was four forty-five, and Belle was running late to work. As the assistant to the librarian, there wasn't much to do some days, but that didn't mean that she could be late, even if Mrs. Morris, the librarian, said she could.

There was an extra car in the parking lot, which struck Belle as odd. Usually on a week day only Belle and Mrs. Morris were at the library. Why would anyone be here, especially today? She didn't think about it for long as she parked her car and opened the doors the library. She had always loved libraries, even as a small child. She didn't have much time to work there because of her practices, but she came whenever she could. There was just something so appealing about a quiet place with hundreds of books to lose oneself in. After taking off her coat and finding Mrs. Morris, she lost herself in the work of putting books back, replacing old ones with new ones, and writing down the names of over-due books.

She had been working for over an hour without picking up a book a reading, so she decided to reward herself with a break and a book. She made a beeline around the multiple bookcases to the Architecture section in the back. Hardly anyone ever went back there, so many months ago she took the liberty of bringing pillows to lounge on while she hid and read.

She was about to sit down and read her copy of Pablo Neruda poems when she noticed a figure reading behind her. She had chosen this part of the library because it was the most secluded, and now someone was ruining her sanctuary. As she turned to so who it was, the figure rose and was none other than Alexander Gaston.

"Alex, I can't talk right now, I'm working." She couldn't help the angry and annoyed tone that came out, though she tried to be civil.

He only laughed and replied, "Belle, I _know_ you. Just like I know that you're probably going to take an hour long break and read. Anyway, it's not like you _have _to read or anything. Just sit down and talk for a while." He motioned to the pillows on the ground and winked.

Disgusted, she said, "_Gaston._ It just so happens to be that I _like _to read books other than our text books and I most certainly am _not _going to sit and 'talk' with you." She couldn't believe him. He was incorrigible.

"Just stop with the 'I'm working' bullshit, okay? It's really a turn-off and I don't like the playing-hard-to-get thing."

If her mouth would've hit the floor, it would've. Instead it formed an 'O' as she stared at him, appalled. "You think that I'm playing _hard to get?_ I broke up with _you,_ Gaston, not the other way around!"

Gaston took one stride forward and grabbed her hand. "Belle, we belong together. The captain of the cheer squad and captain of the football team belong together."

She tried to break free of his grasp, but her efforts were in vain. "Gaston, stop stereotyping this situation. Anyway, you _were_ the captain of the football team. It's senior year. Football's over. At least I know dreams from reality."

He stepped closer until they were almost face to face. He opened his mouth to speak when he was interrupted by a small, quiet cough.

She turned to see who her savior was when her expression of joy became one of mortification. Calan Gold stood about four feet away, looking at Gaston's hand on hers to their faces inches apart, and back again. Her heart broke a little when she saw how he tried to hide the sad look on his face.

Gaston cleared the silence and said, "Well it looks like your white knight is her. Just call me when you want a _real man."_ He winked at her one last time before her turned and walked away. Belle hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath until she heard the front doors slam shut.

She turned to look at Calan, who seemed to have backed up even more. With his eyes looking down he said, "I'm sorry to have…interrupted you two. I didn't know that he was here." He turned and shuffled his feet to the door.

But before he could take two steps Belle ran to him and put her hand on his shoulder. She couldn't see he face, as he was turned away from her, but felt him tense at her touch. She felt butterflies just being this close to him.

As she tried to think of something to say, a little voice in her head told her that she shouldn't say anything at all. Why would he like her? He was smart, probably smarter than her, richer, and most of the time she felt like she was annoying him by how outgoing and talkative she was. There was no way he could even be attracted to her. But he came. Why did he come? He needed a book, of course that's why he came. But the look of his face…

After realizing the awkward silence, she finally spoke up and asked the question she most wanted the answer to. "Why did you come here?" She knew it sounded stupid and that he'd probably call her an ignorant cheerleader, but she still hoped for the best.

He stammered out a reply. "To…to, umm, ask for a recommendation for a book." It sounded more like a question than a statement, but all the same her heart sank. Of course. That's what many people came to ask her for, so why not him? It was then that she noticed he was holding something in his left hand as it were life itself.

Curiosity getting the better of her she asked, "W-what's in your hand? If it's a book then I could take it and put it away and check out a new one for you, I guess…" She was rambling now, and shut her mouth before she could say anything else that would embarrass her.

He turned and faced her. He stood up straighter as if trying to gain some bravery. Looking her straight in the eye he held out his hand. "For you."

She could've sworn that in that moment her heart stopped. She looked down and saw the beautiful rose wrapped in what looked like white lace balanced on the palm of his hand. She knew that it was from her father's shop and laughed inwardly at what the situation was like when he bought it.

When she didn't take it after a few moments of only staring at it, he added, "If you'll have it?"

Her eyes met his warm, brown ones as she picked it up and brought it to her nose.

"Oh, Cal, it's lovely! Where ever did you get it?" She smiled brighter at her last comment. He now knew that she knew where it came from and blushed a bit. Her smile became wider, if that was even possible, when she realized how damn cute he looked when he blushed.

"Well, I did have to make a few deals to get it and steal a firstborn, but that's a story for another time.." He trailed off, looking down, knowing how stupid and boyish he sounded. His head snapped up again when she replied.

"Well, maybe you should tell me sometime. Sounds very daring and exciting.""H-how about tomorrow? I mean, if you're not busy or anyth-"

"I'd love to. How about after school tomorrow we meet at Granny's?" She spoke much to fast, for she feared he was starting to regret his words.

He looked at her with disbelief but quickly hid it. Feeling very brave now, he said, "Meet me at my locker. I'll drive you there."

She looked down and bit her lip, trying to hide her blush. "It's a date, then. I look forward to tomorrow, Calan."

He smiled his best smile and said, "Please, call me Cal," and turned and left, concluding that this was the best day he had ever, _ever _had.

When Belle came home she set down her things at the kitchen counter. She noticed that her father had dinner waiting on the table, so she sat down and ate with him. He told her about his day, or more specifically about all the happy couples he had delivered flowers too. He asked her again and again how her day was, if she had a valentine, or about the boys at school. Sometimes he acted more like a mother than a father.

"Belle, you should be out tonight! Having fun, _dating._ You're sure you have no plans for the next few days?"

She sighed, becoming annoyed by her father's questions. He meant well, but didn't exactly want to tell how the last few hours had gone for fear of blushing a deep shade of red and embarrassing herself in front of her father.

"_Papa,_ I don't have any plans, don't have any guys head over heels in love with me, and don't have any major plans." She hadn't lied, not really. He wasn't in love with her, and their 'date' tomorrow wasn't a big event, at least that's what she kept telling herself.

They continued their dinner in silence. She picked up their plates and headed to the sink to wash them. She was almost done washing all of their eating utensils when her father said,

"What about that Gold boy. I met him today. Very nice. You should ask him out."

She almost cut herself on the knife she was cleaning when she heard him. She turned around, unable to fight the blush creeping it's way up her neck. She saw the convinced smirk on his face and became more angry than shy and embarrassed.

Her father pointed a finger at her and said, "Ha! I knew you liked that boy!"

"Papa," she said, starting towards him, "What did you say to him?"

Moe shrugged nonchalantly and replied, "Oh, nothing really. Just small talk. Ya know, the weather, school, how much you always talk about him…"

She gasped. "You did _what?_ I've only mentioned him once or twice before!"

He laughed, unable to help himself. "Well, sometimes you need a little push in the right direction."

"But not from my _father!" _She punched him lightly on the back before stomping upstairs to her bedroom.

Moe stared at her back and laughed when he heard her door shut. "Without me she would've been happily contented to stare at him from the sidelines for the rest of the year."


	2. Her Status

Everything was about status in high school. People might not go around writing 'jock,' 'loser,' 'geek,' 'normal,' or 'queer' on your forehead, but the way people are treated and respected implies the status you get.

For the new freshmen Australian girl in Storybrooke, she had no status. But within the first five seconds of meeting someone, you already begin to judge them. She had spent many sleepless nights thinking about this. Belle had never really cared much what people thought about her. She didn't care if she was labeled as nerdy or geeky, she just didn't want to be known as _that pretty girl._ Sometimes she hated how she looked; she felt, no, _knew_ that people would judge her based on her looks, and she absolutely hated it. What made it somewhat worse was that she was going to try out for cheerleading.

She loved cheerleading. Not like most of the girls back in Melbourne, who liked it because of the uniforms and the attention they received. She enjoyed it because she was naturally outgoing, and was one of the few girls who could tumble. That was the main reason. When she was about five years old, her mother had signed her up for tumbling lessons, just so she could have something to do. Around seventh grade she was on her middle school cheer squad. She loved the physical labors of it. She was not afraid to fall, and considered her scars her battle wounds.

When she had walked into Storybrooke High School's gym for the tryouts, a few girls laughed. They saw her as some small, dainty, foreign exchange girl who didn't know a thing about cheerleading. But once her wrists were tapped and wrapped, she went straight to the mats. She loved proving people wrong. She went to the back of the line. The girls in front of her were doing round-off flip flops, sometimes even doing two or three flip flops. When it was her turn she had warmed up by doing only a round-off. She purposely kept her legs apart so she would land awkwardly. 'Let them get a little cocky,' she had thought.

A girl about three feet away from her said, "I heard that Coach is looking for all tumblers this year. So, of course, anyone who can't tumble will be cut…" she glanced at Belle then went back to talking to her friends. When it was Belle's turn, she turned to the girl behind her, the same girl who had 'subtly' implied that she was bad, and said,

"I don't know what to do. What would you suggest?" She feigned complete ignorance.

The girl thought for a moment, then replied with a smile full of daggers, "Oh, I don't know. Seems like you have a lot of strength, so why don't you try round-off, two flip flops and a back tuck?"

Belle pretended to look scared. "I'm not sure if I can do that, but I'll give it a try."

Behind her the girl said, "Break a leg! If you can do this, you'll definitely get on the team."

Belle stepped onto the stretch of blue mat in front of her. She could do this easily. She learned how to do a flip flop at eight years old, and how to do back-tucks at age ten. She closed her eyes and thought about every turn her body had to make, every muscle she had to squeeze and flex. When she opened her eyes again, she took off down the mat. Behind her she heard the girl say, "Well, this should be entertaining." Fine. Let the entertaining _begin._

She lifted off into the air. She landed her round-off, with her feet together, and her first flip flop was springy and full of strength. She rotated backwards for her second flip flop, and as soon as her hands touched the ground she pushed with all her might. The muscles in her legs tensed as they pushed off the ground, pushing her seven feet into the air. The perfect height for her back-tuck. She tucked her arms in her chest like a boxer, and started rotating backwards as she reached the highest peak of her tuck. When she landed she smiled to herself, knowing that now she wasn't going to be known as that pretty girl, or the new girl, but as the strong tumbler who doesn't like to messed with. She walked off the mat and called to girl at the other end, "How was that?"

The girl could've caught flies with her mouth hanging open. Welcome to High School.


	3. His Status

For as long as he lived in Storybrooke, he would always be known as the 'anti-social kid.' It's not like he cared. He didn't need friends. Sure, he sometimes talked with Jefferson or Viktor, but only about once every two months. People should just get a red marker and write it on his forehead. It was true. But he _liked_ it like this. This way he could be all alone, just what he wanted, and not have to waste his time talking to complete morons. So, yes. He liked it this way. He had to. It's not like he could suddenly become likeable have friends. So he forced himself to like it. He neither had nor wanted friends, but you have to have _somebody_, you'll go mad if you don't. Which is why he had Baen. Calan called him 'Bae' as a nickname because he knew his younger brother liked it more than the original Scottish names they were given. Bae was quite a bit younger than him. Eleven years younger, to be exact. And as a four year old Bae thought the world was made of gummy bears and play-dough, which was fine with Calan. He needn't know about the assholes that he'll meet when he's in high school, how cruel the world was, or why the father-figure in their large house was their uncle Lachlan.

Lachlan was thirty four years old, with no wife and no children. After his brother had abandoned his two boys, he took them in, and moved to Storybrooke, Maine. That was when Bae was one year old. The two boys were practically orphans; their mother died giving birth to Bae, and their father left them. Calan tried to act older than he was. Act more mature. But he couldn't help the hatred and anger that grew inside him.

That was why he didn't like other people. He told himself that none of them were smart enough for him or entertaining enough, but deep down it was because he did not want to be hurt again. So he hardened himself. Practically became a misanthrope. The only people in his life were his brother and uncle Lachlan, and they were all he needed.

He didn't need anyone. Damn all the people to hell who tried to label him. They didn't know him, and they never would. Even if an angel fell from the sky and wanted to know him, he'd never let her. He was meant to be alone, anti-social, different. And he was perfectly fine with it, too.


End file.
